Alfredline
by Chasing The Black Rabbit
Summary: When Alfred wishes for a dream world, Not-Arthur makes it. But when Alfred realizes it's just a ploy, and that the real Artie's in danger, he and Matthew must defeat the fake. Cat!Matthew btw. Rated T for Romano's potty mouth. A Coraline plotline story..
1. The Beginning of Alfredline

**Alfredline!**

**OH MAI COMERFORD! Lollerskates, inside joke, ya see, my eighth grade English teacher always said we should say Oh my Comerford instead of God's name. This is good, seeing we're not supposed to say God's name in vain at all. Annnnnnnnyways, this story is about Alfred who finds a key, a strange key, and enters a world only heroes can find! And Iggy and France are there too, except…things are not as they seem! Coraline is like….freaky. No joke. I still get nightmares from it, sometimes I escape, other times I don't and I'm stuck in a creepy house that's like my own. It's silly, I saw it how many years ago and I watch it rarely. But the dreams…*shudders***

**Alfred is Coraline Jones, he's twelve**

**Arthur is the other brother and regular brother**

**France is the other father and regular father**

**Canada is the cat?**

**Gilbert's Wybie and other Wybie, he's thirteen**

**Russia is Mr. B!**

**And more to come…**

**Ugh, FrUk is rubbing its hideous fairy dust on me because this pairing is in here! Mein Gott…No I'm not German, just seems like a good time to say that…But it's more of a Artie-abuses-Francis-and-scares-the-crap-out-of-him type of FrUk. Oh and there's AmeriCan, UkUs, PruCan, RusAme if you squint really hard, and other stuff I can't think of. Oh yeah, we got PruAme too…**

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><p>Chapter one<p>

Alfred F. Jones was not like other boys. Other boys would be obedient and bond with their fathers, but with Alfred, he was distant and often disappointed by his. Alfred F. Jones was close to his brother, Arthur Kirkland, but not too close, because Arthur often scolded him into doing proper manners and staying clean and behaving like good little boys. But ever since he was two, Alfred wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be like Captain America and throw a mighty shield, or by the almighty Thor and wield a sword and a hammer. But he couldn't be any of these things, so he settled with pretending. That was something that made Arthur fun. When the days were sunny and the ground isn't muddy, Arthur would take Alfred out into the garden and pretend they were in another world; a world where Alfred could be whatever he wanted. Those days were the best, and the two were always happy. But Alfred grew older and the games stopped, and he was alone again, bored with nothing to do. Of course, he had his school friends, but it was nothing compared to those games. Still, he tried to make the best of it, and spent his hours reading comics, manga, and magazines, fantasying adventure. He liked it especially when the main character had his last name. Like Indiana Jones. It all seemed organized until that day when he was whisked away into an adventure like no other.

~Ж§Ж~

"_We're moving?" Alfred looked up from his dish that Arthur had made. Fish and chips were definitely not good when made by Englishmen. Francis nodded, narrowing his eyes at his meal._

"_Oui Alfred, Arthur has gotten himself a new job, isn't that right Angleterre?" Francis gave Artie a suspicious smile and the Brit made a hissing sound. This odd trio wasn't really family, just a bunch of adopted siblings, in a way. Francis, being the eldest was self-declared father, even through Alfred and Arthur had to watch their back. Francis was a perv and they knew it._

"_Anyways, we're leaving at dawn, so as soon as you finish you need to go to bed." Arthur scooted away from Francis and crossed his arms, addressing Alfred. Alfred sighed, disappointed. He sure didn't want to leave. What would he tell Kiku and Ludwig? Sure, they weren't complete friends, but they never left without telling why. This was going to be tough. He made a mental note to demand that Artie promised to let him visit during the winter break when summer ended._

~Ж§Ж~

"Draw a circle that's the earth, draw a circle that's the earth, draw a circle that's the earth, I am America~" Alfred hummed under his breath as he jumped down the porch steps, too lazy to go step by step. The marshy ground squished under his boots, satisfying the boy as he marched through the foggy mist, looking around. The large pink house he'd moved into three days ago loomed over him, casting a large shadow. It would've been creepy, if it wasn't pink and it wasn't almost completely occupied.

The house had been divided into flats. There were two guys living in the basement, one was a Spaniard, the other Italian. The Italian was always using bad language so much, that when Alfred used one of them Arthur had threatened to stitch his mouth shut and had washed his mouth with soap for twenty minutes. The other was friendly yet passionate towards the Italian. Love was strange yet powerful, Francis had told Alfred.

The attic was inhabited by a Russian who drank vodka all day everyday, and was claiming he was training dancing mice to make a circus. He had a kind but fake smile that sent shivers up Alfred's spine, but nothing bad in particular. There was that other flat too, but it was empty and dark. Alfred pestered his brother about the flat, but all he got from him was that the small door in their flat connected into the empty one, but has been sealed off for some reason unknown. Alfred was still curious by the door, but avoided trying to open it. He couldn't find the key to it.

So now Alfred was out and about, looking for the well in the abandoned garden. It was said to be a pretty garden, but then was abandoned after the owner died. But rumor has it that there was an old well down there. So Alfred sprinted down the driveway, bounding through the rocky path, often tripping on loose rocks. He was aware of someone—or thing—watching him intently, and slowed down. He turned to see it dart into a cluster of rocks, but caught the golden-bronze fur and a long swaying tail. He sighed. It was just a cat lurking about. The boy watched as the cat padded a short distance away while darting in and out of bushes, keeping up with him as the human continued his journey. Once and a while the cat would try to get close and Alfred would try to pet it, only to see it flee. This continued five times or so until Alfred sneezed, and the cat, startled hared away, and did not come back. Shrugging, Alfred pulled his coat closer to himself and wandered into the garden.

It was totally spacious, with bricked walls and dead trees. Weeds and bare shrubs protruded from the ground here and there, their branches digging into Alfred's clothes as he squeezed through tight spaces. Finally, covered with twigs and a stick in his hand, Alfred was in a large clearing, mud covering the forest floor. A tree stomp sat near the center, and Alfred walked over beside it, scanning the area. He couldn't see anything interesting, just a dead end. The stick could be a dowsing rod, and could help him find the well. The idea seemed good enough. In fact, it sounded perfect. Alfred jumped, alarmed as a large shape leaped through a bramble thicket. He whirled around, seeing the shape dash across the exit of the hollow. He brandished his stick uncomfortably, looking around.

"Who's there?" No reply, just the bushes shaking violently. Alfred gulped. What if it was a werewolf, looking to eat him? Or maybe some sparkly vampire was around. Whatever it was, it knew he was here...

_Meow._

"Aaah!" He jumped, surprised. Then he stomped his foot in frustration, failing to hear an echoing thud. That golden brown cat was back again, regarding him with those eyes. It blinked slowly and purred loudly. "Stupid cat. Don't scare me like that! Do you know where the well is?" It blinked slowly in response. Alfred scowled. "Fine don't tell me, I'll find it—" He yelped as a sudden weight slammed into him, entangling his feet. He went into a face plant, spitting out grime. An obnoxious laugh rang out behind him.

"Kesesesese! Way to go Matthew! Distract the loser and let the Awesome Me attack." Alfred looked up to see the cat being stroked by a boy, maybe thirteen, smirking in triumph. The boy was unusual, with grayish white hair that reached his ears, and blood red eyes. It occurred to Alfred that this boy was albino. Growling, he stood up and lunged, only to be deflected by the boy's hand. He fell back again, and glowered at the boy.

"Who're you?"

"That, loser, is an excellent question!" The boy smirked. "I'm no other than Gilbert the Awesome. And you're who?"

"Alfred F. Jones." He grumbled, standing up to dust his pants. Gilbert let out a snort.

"Wow, great name. Nothing awesome like mine, but whatev's." He leaned in closely to look at the boy. "Hmmm, you're new here aren't you?"

"Y-yeah. But why are you stalking me?"

"Why you ask?" Gilbert frowned.

Alfred stomped his foot. "I'm not in no mood for a stalker and his pet pussycat!" He snapped, glowering at the cat dubbed Matthew. The cat stared blankly at him, not moving. Gilbert gasped dramatically and covered the cat's ears.

"He just doesn't know how awesome you are Matthew!" He said sweetly. Matthew made a meow, the rubbed his face against Gilbert's chin. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Well, at least tell me where the old well is?" Alfred crossed his arms, pissed off. Gilbert stopped cuddling his cat and pointed at the boy's feet.

"You stomp too hard on it and you'll fall in, un-awesomely of course." He snickered as the boy jumped back, and then strode over to where he had been standing. Matthew shifted in his position as the albino brushed the mud and leaves away, revealing a round wooden board. There was a hole in the middle, and it was pitch black inside. Then he stood up. "Legend says if you fall in, you can see a sky full of stars in daytime. Sounds awesome don't it?"

"W-whatever." Alfred turned away. If he'd jumped hard enough on it, he would've fell and died. Gilbert continued to say how awesome he was, and the boy half-listened, annoyed. Finally, he said something interesting.

"Y'know, I haven't been in the pink palace." He sighed.

Alfred tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Brother and Grandma say it's cursed or some'in dumb. Totally un-awesome y'know, and I've been telling them that. Bur they won't listen, and forbid me to even step foot in that house."

"But _why_?" Alfred pressed. Gilbert frowned.

"Grandma said a little boy lived there with his brother Lovino, but the little boy disappeared. Said he was stolen." Gilbert laughed. "Such a crazy old coot huh?"

"Y-yeah…" Alfred muttered, back to disliking Gilbert. Suddenly, he heard a thick German accent in the air.

"Giiiiiiiiilbert! Giiiilbert! Gilbert, we have to go home now!" Gilbert winced, looking embarrassed. Alfred smirked at him.

"How awesome you are, needing to be called home." Gilbert paled and searched for something, Matthew leaping off his shoulders. When the boy returned, he had a motorcycle and was getting on it. He placed a helmet on and regarded Alfred.

"Mind putting that stick down?"

"Why?"

"It's poison oak." Gilbert answered, flashing a brilliant smile. Alfred dropped it quickly, yelping.

"Oh God!" The boy looked at his now red hands that were starting to itch. Gilbert drove off, whooping loudly. It was just Alfred and the cat now. Matthew stared up at him, both with amusement and worry. Then in a human-like manner, he shook his head slowly, and sprinted after his master. Alfred watched them go, and knelt by the well. He looked around and spotted a pebble, nice and smooth and black. Reaching over, he plucked it up and brought it to the hole in the well. It hovered, and then was dropped into the hole with a whistle. Alfred pressed his ear against the well and listened intently.

_Plop!_ _Pit, pit, pit, pit._ It was starting to rain. Alfred looked up, and shivered, pulling his jacket close to him. He began the long journey home, retracing his tracks. That meeting with Gilbert the Idiot had been frustrating and tiring, and he would be happy to just forget it all. Once he'd made it home, Arthur was sitting at the porch, waiting. He was staring at something in his hands, puzzled. Alfred prodded his brother's cheek with a finger.

"Artie…?" The teen looked up.

"Oh hullo Alfie, that's peculiar. An albino lad stopped by and gave me this, saying he found it while heading home. It has an uncanny resemblance to you."

"Really?" Alfred frowned.

"Really, here, I think you'll like it." He handed Alfred the object in his hand, then walked towards the door. Alfred stared at what was a doll, with blond hair and a cowlick, a jacket similar to his, and a pair of glasses. And instead of eyes, it had buttons. Alfred was confused. Why'd did this doll look so much like him? He was about to find out.

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><p><strong>Did you enjoy that? Glad you did! Yeah, sorry folks, I've been grounded, that's why I've haven't answered your letters to North, but I will soon enough. Please Review, I won't make this without one. How'll I know that you were reading it?<strong>


	2. You're in Danger!

**AAN (Arthur's Author Note): A special thanks goes to the first person to review my story! I'm still grounded I think—Pfft, shame on me for being a computer addict when it comes to writing—but there's more coming this way. I agonized over this chapter because of writer's block, and because I was bored to death. Thanks for reading the previous chapter, now enjoy this one.**

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><p>"Artie, I almost fell down a well." Alfred said, breaking the silence. He had been staring at the window for an hour now, bored out of his mind. That idiot Gilbert had annoyed the crap out of him, and he wasn't feeling happy about being stuck inside the house with poison oak on his hands. He scratched them while waiting for a reply.<p>

"Uh-huh." Arthur grunted in response, not really listening as he read a book that was titled _Romeo and Juliet_. He flipped a page and took a sip of his tea, eyes trained on the words.

"I could've died." Alfred added, trying to bring interest. Arthur didn't respond, just continued reading. "Hey, it's raining, Artie, wanna go play in the mud?"

"In the mud?" Arthur looked shocked. "Alfred, you know how I feel about the mud. You'll get sick in the rain and catch pneumonia."

"I know I know," Alfred pouted. "But it's so boring in here!"

"Well, it would've been fun right now, if it wasn't for that accident." Arthur held up his hand that was bandaged tightly from an incident.

"It wasn't my fault you got in the way when I dropped the ladder." His brother grumbled, fiddling with the miniature doll version of him.

"I didn't say it was your fault Alfred."

"Then what _did_ you say?" Alfred pouted, kicking the cabinet door. Arthur looked up from his book.

"Alfred F. Jones, please don't try my temper." He finally hissed through clenched teeth. Alfred shied away.

"S-sorry Artie, I'm just frustrated."

The Englishman waggled a finger at him, scolding. "Frustration does not excuse such behavior."

Alfred sighed and sat at the table, ready to be launched into an hour long-lecture, as usual. It was what Arthur did best; bore him to death as punishment for doing bad things. _Let's just get this over with, sheesh. I wish I could just go somewhere cool and have someone who really knows me._ But to his surprise, Arthur just sighed and went back to reading.

"Just go and annoy Francis. I bet he wants company." Alfred rolled his eyes with a groan. If that guy wanted company, it would be to do dirty things with company. But with no other options, the boy gave up and left the table.

Francis was watching the Moulin Rouge for the fourth time today, and typing a romance novel. Arthur's new job was to be his editor, and a teacher in Alfred's new school. Much to Alfred's dislike, there was a dress code. Every student wore gray, gray pants, gray shirts, gray everything. It was all so boring, so dumb, and so stupid. Who wears uniforms these days, the US Army? Anyways, back to the story. Francis was sitting on his bed, with a laptop on his lap, typing quickly and purposely. It could be possible that he was sexting, which disgusted Alfred, or he could be doing his work. Usually it was the first guess. So Alfred hung by the door with Doll-Alfred in his arms.

"Francis?"

"Bonjour Alfred," Francis peeked at the doll. "And Alfred doll."

"I'm bored."

"It's raining out there non?"

"Yep, the rain—it is pouring buckets, can I go outside?"

"What did Angleterre say?"

"'You're not going out there Alfred F. Jones!'" Alfred put his hands on his hip, imitating his brother. Francis smiled in amusement.

"Well, I guess you can't go." Alfred frowned in frustration. Seriously, refused again? Alfred groaned and hit the back of his head against the door. It made a small thud, which made him do it again. He sniggered and did it again. And then again. It was getting amusing. Francis sighed deeply after a few minutes of hearing the laughing and the creaking door. He shut the laptop and gave Al a look.

"Tell you what Jones, you get a sheet of paper and a pencil, and do inventory. Count the stair steps, the windows, the doors, anything. Just, please let me do my work."

"…Fine." Alfred fiddled with the doll in his hands and stomped out of the room. He wandered into a empty room where the boxes of unpacked things lay. He opened one and felt around in it, and pulled out a packet of paper, and a bundle of pencils. Stuffing his doll into his pocket, Alfred grabbed the two utensils and left the room, and began looking. _What to look at first?_ Alfred wondered, stopping next to the boiler. He looked at the door and shrugged. _That works for me._ Slowly opening the door, he stepped inside and scanned the room. Rusting pipes ran up and down the walls, and a furnace was blazing with fire. A switch was connected to the wall, once white, but now scummy. A sheet of paper hung below it, ready to fall, and preventing the boy from reading it. He flicked the switch off, and suddenly, it got dark. There was a cry of grief from Francis down the hall, as the laptop power went out. Terrified, Alfred checked the paper. It said **"**_**Do not turn off"**_. Crap. Alfred flicked the switch back on and closed the boiler door quietly, then walked off.

After two hours of looking around, writing, going through shenanigans, and falling asleep on the stairs, Alfred had filled his sheet of paper, and was reading it in an empty room, dully checking things off. In total, he found these things:

**One stool**

**Ten doors**

**Twenty steps**

**Two stairs**

**Twenty windows**

**Thirty light switches**

**Forty chips of fallen paint**

**Ninety-nine moth balls**

**Fourteen mirrors**

**A boring picture of a boring boy eating ice cream**

**All together I've found two hundred twenty-eight items.**

He began to fold up the paper and was going to remove the doll from his pocket to make some room, when he stopped. He felt nothing in his coat pocket. He felt in his other. Nothing.

"Alright, where are you little me?" Alfred scanned the area, confused. Where'd his doll go? He lifted a box and peered inside, only finding electronics like cell phones and IPads. He set it down and patrolled the perimeter of the room. He bumped into the stool and yelped, hopping around on one foot. This was ridiculous! How could an inanimate doll get lost from his pocket? What. Did the thing suddenly stand up and walked? He stopped, his foot touching something soft. Looking down, Alfred saw something weird. The doll was underneath a board, staring up at him with its eyes. Slowly, the boy pushed the board away to pick the toy up, and then looked at the wall. There was the door, a small miniature door. It was the same, like always, but something was weird. There was a key in the lock. Curious, he took the key out and examined it. It had the handle of a button, with four tiny holes. It was pitch black, and was cold to the touch. Alfred was puzzled. How'd that get in here? He looked at the doll, and held it, stuffing the key into his pocket. He'd find out soon enough tonight when no one was watching. Journeying back into the kitchen, he spotted Arthur, who was now cooking. Alfred hung by the door and leaned against the frame, crossing his arms.

"Artie, I'm still bored."

"I can't help you with that Al." Arthur replied, eyes on the stove.

"What should I do? I already did inventory on everything in this stupid house."

Arthur prodded at the skillet with his spatula. "Then go visit Lovino and Antonio."

"Ugh, but you said they're a bunch of twits!" Al complained. Arthur smirked at him and twirled the spatula skillfully with two fingers.

"I know Alfie."

"Stupid Arthur and Francis, sending me to visit weirdoes." Alfred grumbled as he stomped towards the basement. A thick fog was rolling in, and the boy had to pick up the pace if he didn't want to get lost. Already it had covered the ground, and Al had to be careful on where he stepped. The basement wasn't far, just a short walk from his flat to it. He descended down the stairs and hung onto the rails, reaching the door. He knocked twice on the door, and then proceeded to wait. A fuzzy cat leaped into view, jumping up and down to see who was at the door while yowling at the top of its lungs. It startled Al, but he waited patiently as Antonio opened the door.

"¡Silencio Alejandro! Lo siento Alfred, he's the energetic of the three." Antonio laughed and picked up the cat, then beckoned the American inside. "Come in! Mi casa es tu casa."

Alfred scratched his head, confused. "Eh? I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish."

"'My house is your house.' Or flat, as we really have. Oh Lovino~! Alfred's here!"

"Leave me the hell alone!" A voice snarled from another room. Antonio looked sad and pleading.

"Please, I feel so lonely just talking to him."

"Like hell you do!" Lovino stalked into the living room, wearing a…a red frilly dress? Alfred flinched at the man and covered his eyes. Lovino glared at Antonio venomously. "Bastard, you stole my close haven't you? I look like a transvestite!"

"Me?" Antonio looked flabbergasted. "I'd never do that Lovi! I love you too much to steal your clothes."

"Dirty liar!" Lovino punched him in the shoulder. "Give me my clothes."

"Alright," Antonio laughed lightly and pointed a door. "They're in my room Lovi, but I didn't steal them I promise bonito."

"Shut up pedophile!" The bad-tempered man stomped out of the room and disappeared behind the door to the room. Antonio pointed at a chair for Alfred to sit, and then sat on the couch. Alfred obeyed, and sat there, looking around. Two cats bounded over and assaulted his sneakers, pawing and batting at the shoelaces.

"So Alfred, what brings you here?" Antonio asked. Alfred shrugged.

"Bored out of my mind."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's been boring ever since I've moved here. I got a personal stalker today too." He grunted as the fattest cat of the two leaped onto his lap and meowed at him. "Oof, what do you feed these guys, watermelons?

His host cracked up, then shook his head. "Oh no Al, Tito likes to eat a lot."

"Maybe you should stop feeding him for a while."

"Oh no, then this cat will raid Georgia's food bowl. Isn't that right senorita?" The cat named Georgia stopped playing with Alfred's shoes and sprinted out of the room. Lovino emerged from the bedroom in manly clothing, and sat across the couch from Antonio. "Hello Lovi!"

"Shut up." Lovino growled. Secretly, Alfred was getting bored again. The two seemed to never get along; Antonio being too affectionate, Lovino being a potty-mouth. How could they stand each other? Like Francis said, love was strange, but powerful. He half-heartedly took a sip from his tea—blech! How'd these people drink this stuff?

"I can read your tea leaves if you want." Antonio suddenly offered. When Alfred looked at him like he was crazy, Lovino rolled his eyes.

"The bastard says he can read your tea leaves and tell the future."

"Oh, really?" Alfred's eyes widened.

Antonio nodded vigorously. "Of course, I learned it sometime ago. Por favor?"

"Um….okay…" He handed the cup over, waiting patiently as his neighbor shook it expertly. Then he peered into the murky drink, and concentrated.

Antonio nearly frowned and looked closer. "It looks like a claw…"

"I see a giraffe!" Lovino snapped, snatching it away.

"Turn it over bonito?" The Spaniard suggested. Lovino rolled his eyes and stared again. Then he turned pale.

"Oh…"

Alfred leaned in. "Dude, come on, don't leave me hanging. What is it?"

"Oh well…you're in terrible danger." Antonio replied nonchalantly. Silence filled the room as it sank in. Alfred considered this, than grinned like this was the best news ever.

"Sweet."

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><p><strong>AANRant: Isn't Alfred a worrier? Lol, he's not even fazed that he's in trouble.**

**The names of the cats translated!**

**Tito-Titus**

**Alejandro-Alexander**

**Georgia is just plain Georgia**

**The whole dress code thing in schools, what's up with that? I know it's to keep people from being picked on or wearing gory clothes, but really, it is wrong for people are individual to be wearing the same thing as twenty other students. It's a waste of money for people who bought regular clothes, and won't be able to wear them for the majority of the year. Thankfully, I don't have to wear uniforms for school anymore—but I heard the English uniforms are super sexy, according to my brother who went to high school in London and had a dorm. Lucky, all I got was angry Italian nuns screaming at me in my four years of life on Sicily. Thanks for reading this chapter—and my rant—review anyone?**


	3. Door of Death is Opened

**AAN: Here's my next chapter! We see Mr. Ivan and Not-Arthur in this chapter! Sorry for the long wait, but I nearly lost my hard drive which held the chapters and future ones…and then I got writer's block and abandoned this story. I BE EVIL! Rawr!**

**Sorry that this chapter was short to you...I decided to hurry this one up since I so rudely made you wait. Forgive my cruel nature, but like I said, I promised to continue~**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>The inspiring band that urge me to continue is no other than the Twilight-inspiring Muse~ GO MUSE!<strong>

**Song for the story so far: **

**"New Born" by Muse **

**"I Will Not Bow" by Breaking Benjamin**

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><p><em>Some called him a <strong>Beldam<strong>._

_ This was quite silly._

_He was a **male**. _

_**Not** a **female**._

_And certainly not old. _

_But there was one **boy**._

_A **cat** actually._

_Who called him not a **Beldam**._

_But called him **IT** instead…_

_It happened when the Italian boy died. **IT** was hungry; the boy hadn't filled his thin body, as big as he was. He craved flesh and pumping blood, the fear that shown in his victims' eyes. But once he'd eaten, he craved more. Spinning children webs of lies, comforting them with familiar yet extravagant worlds, and then promising them happiness, before snatching it away and doing taxidermy on their still wriggling bodies. The skin always annoyed him; it got between his teeth and was hard to get out. But his canines and fangs help nip the burden away, to reveal rich meat and blood to both suck and devour. He liked it best when he was in the form of the victims' love ones, to feed on the sense of betrayal and repulsion. Yes, he loved children, and how gullible they were to fall in his trap. _

_This one would be no exception. He was young and healthy, with a faint blush on his cheeks. A lot of blood in this one! He sighed in content before setting off to work._

_The doll that resembled the Italian he'd devoured floated through the windows, a smile of glee sewn on its face. **IT** caressed the delicate face, imagining the softness of the boy's flesh. Then _snip, snip_ went the needle-like fingers, cutting the sewn on smile open and pulling the string out. His nimble fingers twirled itself into the cotton inside and tugged it out, letting the stuffing fall on the floor. He hummed lightly and turned the doll inside out to match the coloring of his next meal's skin. Slowly and carefully, he poured a bucket of grain into the doll, filling it up to the tip. **IT** pulled out a brown string a sewed the mouth closed to a wide grin. **IT **snickered at the facial expression before pulling out a drawer of buttons. They varied from orange to a deep purple, but instead he plucked two traditional button—black. The buttons were placed on top of the doll's head, just above the stitched smile. A bomber jacket—after being made from plain leather—was stitched into the skin. Finally, it was finished._

_"Alfred…"_

_The doll beamed at **IT** as it floated back into the abyss. **IT** smiled mischeiviously and closed the window doors. The web has been spun._

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><p>After cheerfully saying farewell to his neighbors, Alfred trotted outside into the mist. He was a bit thoughtful.<p>

"In danger?" It hadn't scared him, just made him excited. Danger meant suspense. Suspense meant adventure. And an adventure needed a hero. Which no doubt would be him. "I wonder what sort of danger it would be." He asked to no one in particular. He began to head towards his flat when a shape moved through the fog. He knew what it was. It wasn't difficult to tell. But he pretended not to notice, and walked on, eyeing the shape as it came near. Finally he stopped, and a shadow loomed over him. Instinctively, he elbowed the figure, making him shudder and grunt in surprise. The stranger fell with a cry and Alfred turned on his heel, leering at the figure.

"Oh look, it's the town's most pathetic stalker!" Alfred growled, stomping hard on the ground. Gilbert flailed on the ground before sitting up, glaring at the attacker.

"I'm not pathetic! I'm awesome retard!"

"Awesome people don't need to say the word retard, retard." Alfred snapped, whirling away. He then was face to face with the cat Matthew, sitting on a tree stump. "Oh great, you brought the pussycat." Matthew calmly stared at him.

"He's no pussycat!" Gilbert objected, standing up. He brushed off mud and strode to his pet. "He's wild! Of course—" He stroked the cat's chin. "He stays in my house at night and sometimes brings me little dead things, and I feed him regularly—"

"Aha! A pussycat through and through!" Alfred interrupted. Gilbert glared again. For a while neither of them spoke, and then Al sighed. "Fine, sorry. What're you doing here?"

"Hunting for uh, rabbits."

"Rabbits, seriously?" As much as Alfred loved rabbits, it was hard to see a guy, who self-proclaims himself as awesome, looking for them.

"Yeah, and we've found none." He sighed. And then gave the pink house a fearful look. "So do Lovino and that Antonio guy live here?"

"Yup, why, is he the one who lost…?"

"What do _you_ think? Of course he is."

"Oh." Alfred nibbled on his lower lip thoughtfully. His tongue ran across the scars that were a reminder of his previous biting. He bit into those scars, tasting a few droplets of blood.

"So…where'd you find that doll—?"

"Oh, around my grandmother's room. Looked a lot like you, so I gave it to ya." Gilbert scratched his head nervously.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Yeah…Look I gotta go." Gilbert interrupted. Alfred stared at him.

"What, dude you can't just leave!" He protested, getting indignant by the minute. "At least tell me about how Lovino lost his brother?"

"Not lost man…" The albino boy mumbled under his breath. He tugged on a strand of hair until it came loose, and then he let it fall on the ground—in a really awesome way of course! "He was stolen."

Alfred rolled his eyes. This was stupid… "Stolen? How'd the guy get stolen?"

"Well, ya see…" Gilbert scratched the back of his neck nervously. "The kid came across a doll that looked exactly like him, and he kept squealing about it. My bruder Ludwig was especially close to this kid and told me all about him. His name was, uh, Feliciano I think. And he came from an un-awesomely poor family, whose parents constantly got drunk, had sex, and fought each other. _His_ bruder—that Lovino dude—was unusually hostile, and they didn't really have great toys. So-o-o-o, Feli was happy to play with his doll. Then one day, he began claiming that there was this _other_ world, a world so awesome, that it's Prussia-awesome!"

Alfred ignored the last part. Awesome was getting old now. "A-a-and, what else?" He prompted. Gilbert continued.

"No one believed him. I kinda did, but I was a toddler then, I think he was just foolin' around now. Every day he came up with these fantasy dreams, and he kept insisting that they were reality. And then one day, he was gone. The doll was too." Gilbert paused for (an awesome) effect. "And he lived…right…in…that…house." The boy pointed behind Alfred dramatically, who turned around to look at his house. A shiver ran up his back. "And he never came back. Lovino claims he was stolen."

"T-t-that's a tragic story." Alfred managed to get out. Gilbert didn't say anything, just got his things, got on his bike. And he rode away, leaving Alfred alone to stare at the house. Was the story true? He had no idea. Oh well, what could he do? Probably some crap to scare him.

Tugging his bomber jacket closer to him, the boy hurried back to his flat. His foot hit somrething hard. _Clink!_ He looked down, to see a package that had the words VODKA written in bright scarlet letters. Smaller, black letters said nothing but Russian gibberish. And this package was super close to his family's mailbox, when obviously, it belonged to Ivan. He sighed, gathering up the contents in his arm. Looks like there was going to be a detour before he got home. Slowly proceeding up to the attic, Al noticed how high he was. Well, he didn't have acrophobia, it was just that how could someone live up so high? And on slippery, unsteady stairs too! He nearly lost a hold on his footing before balancing himself. With a shaky sigh, he hurried up to the attic. The attic was more like an old shack, the door splintering and rotting. Holes were filled with cotton, although how much help that'll be puzzled Al. Knocking the door thrice, he shifted his wait on each foot waiting. About ten minutes passed until the door swung open. Ivan stepped into view, his body half in the shadows, half out. A faucet pipe hung loosely in his hands, glinting maliciously in the sunlight.

"Da?" Al trembled at the staggering size of the violet-eyed man. _He was a huge giant!_ Al nearly forgot himself in his haste to get away.

"Yeah um, I got your vodka by mistake..." Alfred eyed the Russian fearfully before extending his hand to give him the bottles. "They must've switched up our mail —"  
>With snake-like speed, Ivan snatched up the mail before staring at the boy, who had backed away quickly in late reaction.<br>"It's Ivan," the man corrected. He said it as _EE-VAUN_. "Not the American Ivan."

"Oh really? Then, shouldn't your name be E-V-A-N?"

The Russian smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. There was a faint _Kolkol_ sound... "I wouldn't be so smart around myself if I were you, little sunflower sapling. There's a saying for what happens to people like you. da?"

"O-oh, sorry..." Al turned away and tried to hurry out of the man's gaze.

"Oh and Fredka..." Al turned, the hairs on his neck rising. The Russian had him fixed under that purple stare. "The mice told me to tell you this..." His voice suddenly was a raspy whisper. "'Do not enter the door of Death. For there thou shalt truely find thyself in spider's web.'"

Normally, if it hadn't been so freaky, Al would've giggled at the way Ivan spoke. But seeing that the message was a serious warning towards him, he couldn't do such an action.

"...What door? The door in my flat?"

"...Beats me!" The Russian shrugged nonchalantly, smiling fakely. "The mice sometimes get a little confused...they even said your name was Alfred and not Fredka, not Fredka at all!" He turned away and reentered his own flat, shutting the door tightly. Al's tongue rubbed itself against the ragged flesh he had made on his lips with his teeth, tasting the blood once again. Things weren't looking so good now. He jumped at the call of his voice.

"Alfred, come on! Dinner!"

"It better not be fish'n'chips..." Alfred grumbled.

* * *

><p>Apparently, there is a being out being controlled everything Al hated, and spat them in his face whenever he or she pleased. So that meant one hing: fish'n'chips tonight. Al made a face as Arthur shoveled up blackened, charred fish onto his plate, and fries that were loaded with seasoning, This was just enough to punch a whole in Chuck Norris' stomach and murder him—nope, Chuck Testa.<p>

"Eeew," Alfred pushed the fish'n'chips away. "Can't we have something else, like a cheeseburger or somethin'?"

"Well it's either that or bed, _frère_." Francis responded. "So what is your answer?"

"Think they're tryin' to poison me?" Alfred asked his doll. The replica of the boy nodded by the force of his owner's fingers, an act of agreement. Alfred sighed and excused himself from the table. Dragging his legs to his bedroom, he didn't bother to do the traditional bathing-then-brushing-teeth-then-getting-pajamas-on. He hopped into his bed and pulled the covers over him, not even bothering to take off his shoes. He was too lazy to do anything but sleep.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hours later...<strong>_

_It was time to set the plan in motion_

_The web began to unravel_

**_IT _**_began to unravel_

_It was time to claim the next meal_

* * *

><p>The house was quiet, not a creature was stiffing, not even the cat. the snowglobes had been recently shaken, their "flakes" swirling in the water and covering the ground, some being swept back into the clear liquid.<p>

_Careful of what you wish for_

_Everything in your world's a bore_

Alfred stirred in his sleep. The sound of singing had reached his ears. He blinked twice, and then focused on his doll. But it had its back turn on him; the doll was facing the door of his room. Alfred heard singing again.

_Careful of what you wish for_

_Look what's behind this door_

Alfred caught a small movement; abruptly he left the doll and looked at the hallway. But he couldn't compromise what he was seeing. It was a mint green rabbit, with tiny paws and long ears. Large wings sprouted from its back and sea-green eyes stared at the boy. The bunny flapped its wings and took flight down the hallway.

_Careful of what you wish for_

_A world with amazing lore_

The singing voice beckoned for Alfred, who was now out of his bed. He had to find the singer and that bunny. Quickly, he pulled on his robe and stumbled out into the open. The bunny chirped out a word before swooping down the stairway.

"Follow me!"

Alfred hurried down the stairs and turned to run after his target, slipping on the rug as he did so. Unfazed by this, he continued his pursuit. Sweet, gentle music played with the voice.

_Come dear child_

_Your life is mild_

Alfred skidded to a halt finally. He was in that boring empty room, with the painting of the boring old boy with his ice cream. The room with the door, and the mint bunny was struggling through it, wriggling its furry little rump.

_You crave fun_

_My work is done_

Alfred hesitated at the door. His skin crawled at his thoughts. The bunny somehow had managed to get through the narrow door. And the door, it was _glowing_. Al didn't like that. It was too…paranormal? The voice continued, a little cheerless now.

_Don't you want to play with us friend?_

_Put your boredom to an end_

Alfred slowly edged towards the door, eyeing it suspiciously. Why did the voice want him to enter? Was this some sort of trick?

_Cake, candy, and pie_

_Come dear child, I don't lie_

"You better not …" Alfred whispered, opening the door slightly. Multicolored light splashed on the floor, reds and blues and indigos swimming around the floorboards. No sparkly vampire flinging itself at him and screaming "Bella" yet. Fair enough. Alfred closed his eyes before shoving the door open. He opened his eyes and—

"Whoa…"

A large passageway stretched out before him, probably about twenty feet long. Colorful light glowed from the walls and ceilings, which were both painted with toys and games of ever generation, all leading up to the twenty-first century. The floor was blue grass—literally—that swayed to an intangible wind. And there was an open door at the end of the corridor, a brighter light bathing the grass before it. A cool breeze blew against the boy, and then he finally took a step inside. The grass tickled; their ends pricked his feet as he shuffled across the passageway, eating away the distanced from the door. At last, after constant pausing and doubting his safety, Al made it to the door, and placed his hand on the surface. It felt cool to the touch, very much like the one he came out of. He slid through the entrance and looked around to find—

Only to find his old, boring, plain, empty room with, with nothing to appear but the boring old boy eating stupid ice cream. What. The. Heck.

"How the hell did I get back here?" Al wondered, puzzled. "Could've _sworn_ I went through that weird hall…" Wait, now that he looked at things better, Alfred noticed that the room was different, particularly that painting. The boy in there was looking at his ice cream nastily with a sadistic grin. This smile startled _and_ disturbed dear ole Al. What boy hold such a expression? And the carpets, they resembled something like a spiderweb, and a large couch of a ladybug sat in the dead center. The fireplace roared, blazing a briliant scarlet. Alfred sniffed the air, detecting a warm, sweet smell. Cookies. Chicken. Cheeseburgers. His mouth watered(as did mine) and cautiously, he crept towards the kitchen. It crossed his mind that the flying mint bunny wasn't here anymore, and he suddenly wondered where it went. There was a flutter of wings. In the kitchen, probably waiting for him? The scents were overwhelming when he entered the room.

The table was not a hard, small square area with metal chairs surrounding it now. It was a long, round table, with polish wood and cushioned chairs. And a glorious collection of food was set out. A silver dining plate was filled with large cheeseburgers. Another was piled up high with scones and cookies, topped off with double fudged brownies that carried an aroma so sweet, that you dear reader, would just get diabetes from sniffing them. Cupcakes and pies sat in the center, surrounded by friend chicken, the only type you could get in Bojangles where the Southerners lived. Corn on a cob with melting butter were lined together neatly, fresh collard greens and dirty rice set out in two large pans, hotdogs only a foot long, Polish and Italian sausages as a great substitute. And—I should wrap this up now—blueberry pie with whipped cream at the peak of it.

Alfred gaped at the display. This was a lot of food; how could anyone find enough time to cook and bake all of this? Who ever it was must been waiting for a family, or a party. Something to explain all of this food! His stomach growled—no _roared_—at him to dine on the feast. But what stopped him in his tracks was a soft humming, directly behind him. Al spun around on his heel took see who it was. It was Arthur, pulling out a large roasted turkey from the oven. A large plate was settled besides him, a large Black Forest Cake, looking very moist under the artificial light. Alfred approahed his brother, puzzled. How'd Arthur make all of this food? _Delicious_ food.

"Um, Artie...?" Al began.

Arthur turned and stared at him. But it wasn't Arthur at all. Not by a long shot.

* * *

><strong>Btw, Russia's name <em>is<em> pronounced EE-VAUN. It's proper Russian arcording the fanarchive. I started listing off all te things I liked to devour before and right after I wrote cheeseburgers. And as you can see, I'm a Southerner. We _crave _Bojangles...Ye-haw. The cake is going to play a part in my story now. PORTAL BE TAKING OVER MY LIFE, So is My Little Pony...If you saw the cupcakes I added into the food descriptions, so the cupcakes are taking part of this tale too...*ha-ha...* BTW the Black Forest cake is the name of the Portal Cake.**

**Ha-ha, sorry for long wait, but watching a movie like this can cause NIGHTMARES. I avoid the back cover because it shows the horrified faces of the ghost kids. Luckily no one forces me to look at it—hey, Companion Cube, watcha got there? Uh, what's with the black key? Why are you heading towards that door? Why is it glowing—oh God, oh GOD NO DON'T OPEN THAT—AAH!**


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